


Rain Down (From a Great Height)

by Camelittle



Series: Convalescence [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Caring Morgana, Grief, Horses, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Women Being Awesome, sad Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:06:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3639567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Although Arthur can now begin to resume his real life duties, there are some hurts that will never go away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain Down (From a Great Height)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Horse" square on my [Merlin Writers Quickie Bingo](http://merlin-writers.livejournal.com/161477.html) card. 
> 
> The title is taken from Radiohead's "Paranoid Android".

When Arthur heard Merlin enter his room that morning, he was in the middle of getting dressed. He was having a bit of trouble sorting out his shirt, one-handed, so he dumped it on his lap.

“Merlin,” he said, wheeling round the screen. “Can you help me with--oh!”

Gwen’s mouth was in a surprised “O” shape, the mirror of his own.

“You’re not Merlin,” he added, lamely.

“Evidently not,” she said. She was carrying a box file, which reminded him that she’d promised to bring in the estate accounts this morning.

“Sorry!” he said. “I - erm. Well. I forgot. I’ll just--” he flapped his shirt up and down. “Merlin usually helps me with… erm.”

“I’ll come back in ten minutes, shall I?” she said, with one of her dimply smiles. “The auditors have finished the end-of-year accounts, and the Pendragon Manor visitor centre numbers are up, which is good news, but I wanted to go over the staff roster for the Easter break with you…”

Arthur groaned. “All right, just give me a bit of time to wrestle with this damn shirt.” He was enormously grateful, really. Sometimes Gwen was such a good estate manager that he forgot he had to verify all the decisions she’d made on his behalf.

She hadn’t finished. “And… we want to be finished before Morgana gets here, don’t we?”

“Oh, crap. Can’t I have a migraine instead?” He’d forgotten that Morgana was coming. He wasn’t sure he could cope with her carping. “Merlin said I’ve got to try to avoid stress.”

“Don’t be such a grump, Arthur,” said Gwen, pausing in the door, the box file still tucked under her arm. “She said she’s brought you a new present, one you can’t smash.”

Oh God. That damned vase. “Merlin was right. I’m never going to hear the last of it, am I?”

“Probably not, no. See you in ten. Oh, and Arthur?”

“Mmm?”

“Talking of Merlin…

“I wasn’t aware we were talking of Merlin!”

“As far as I can tell, you talk of little else, Arthur.” While he was trying to formulate the words to counter her clearly erroneous statement, she pressed home her advantage. “So. How did your date with him go on Saturday?”

It was a good thing Arthur wasn’t mid-way through a cup of tea. He’d have spat it out, if he was, and that would have made a terrible mess of the clean shirt he was holding in one hand. “What? It wasn’t a… I mean! We were watch… it was a lads thing. You wouldn’t understand!”

She laughed, knowingly. “Oh yes, I rather think I would,” she said. “You had a meal… watched a romantic movie…”

“We had a curry and watched the rugby!” Sometimes Gwen crossed over the “Estate Manager” line into “Uncannily Telepathic Friend” territory. Most of the time he didn’t mind, but sometimes it was terribly embarrassing.

“You forget how well I know you, Arthur. Rugby counts as a romantic movie for you.”

She’d left the room before he could ball up his shirt and throw it at her.

As luck would have it, Morgana arrived earlier than they both expected, and they were still up in Arthur’s bedroom, reviewing the estate taxes when she got there.

“Gwen, darling,” she said, sweeping into the room and taking in the scene. “It’s lovely to see you. You look gorgeous as always.” She gathered Gwen up for a hug then released her.

“Morgana! How are you? I adore your new hair cut.”

“Thank you. I love your dress. Yellow suits you.”

“What, this old thing?” Gwen’s dimples popped in. “I’ve had it ages.”

“Well, I don’t care. It’s a breath of sunshine in Arthur’s dreary room. It’s such a shame he doesn’t conform to the gay stereotype. Interior decorating really is not his thing.”

“Er - excuse me? I’m right here?” said Arthur, pointing to himself for emphasis.

But Morgana wasn’t done ignoring him. “I seriously think he’d paint everything magnolia if it was up to him.”

“Morgana!” Gwen looked both amused and outraged at the same time. “You’re so naughty! And look at you, all spring-like in your new dress!”

“You like it?” Morgana actually twirled and simpered. And when Morgana  chose to simper, she really simpered. Arthur found himself wondering for a moment if simpering was one of the things they taught girls like Morgana at finishing school, along with twirlling, making small talk, and walking in shoes that could be classed as dangerous weapons.

Arthur couldn’t help it. He rolled his eyes. “Well, this is all very touching…”

Morgana turned to glare at him. “Arthur. Stop interrupting.”

“Well excuse me for thinking that I was the focus of your visit.”

“Always have to be the centre of attention, don’t you Arthur?”

“This is _my_ bedroom!”

“Which is where I left _my_ vase!”

“Morgana.” He sighed and rubbed at the furrow between his eyes. “Thanks for coming. And… I... I’m sorry about the vase. It was an accident.”

Her face softened slightly. “I still haven’t forgiven you,” she said, “but I have to say it’s nice to see you up and about.”

“Thanks.” He wasn’t exactly up, per se, but at least he was out of bed, and able to propel himself short distances.

“How’s the physio going?”

He shrugged. “It’s all right. Merlin keeps telling me I’m over-doing it, but he’s an old mother hen, so that doesn’t matter.”

“Ah, Merlin,” she said, archly, drawing out the first syllable of Merlin’s name. “Lovely, sweet, kind Merlin. Merlin with his elegant hands and his warm smile. My, my. It didn’t take you long to mention him, now, did it?”

He groaned. Not her as well. Was he that transparent? Or was Morgana an actual witch, as he’d always thought. “Merlin is my carer, Morgana,” he said, trying not to sound too defensive. “He takes care of my well-being, and avoids giving me headaches, which is more than I can say for some people. It’s natural that I should respect his opinio--”

Morgana snorted. “Dear brother, you couldn’t be more transparent if you were made of glass.” She reached forward and patted his cheek so that he had to scowl on principle. “There, there. I think he’ll be good for you.”

“For heaven’s sake I’m not--”

“Well, then, dear brother, it’s time you were.” She reached into her capacious bag and withdrew an ornately wrapped parcel. “Here, I got you this. Not even you can smash it.”

Her face looked oddly sympathetic, which made him curious as to the parcel’s contents. He took it from her. It was heavy and square. It felt like a huge, thick book.

“Morgana, are you and Leon able to come to our barbecue next weekend? Lance would love to see you both.” Gwen had brought out her phone and was busy tapping into it.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry I haven’t sent you a reply yet! I’m due in court on Monday and I’m not sure if I’ll be prepared in time...”

“Oh that’s a shame. Lance was hoping to…”

Arthur zoned out their chit chat and they paid him no heed while he carefully slipped one fingernail under the ribbon. It was difficult, unwrapping a present with only one hand.

“Here,” said a deep voice in his ear, startling him.

“Merlin! When did you get here?”

“Just now.” Merlin was proffering a blunt dinner knife, which he’d evidently just brought into the room for Arthur to use for his meal.

Arthur hadn’t even noticed him come in. He pinked a little at the thought of what Merlin might have overheard, and then gently slipped the knife under the sellotape that was sticking the sides of paper together.

Merlin set about preparing for dinner, putting a fresh jug of water on the table, and the girls were still chatting.

When he saw what was inside, he was grateful that everyone in the room was busy with something or another, and that no-one was paying him any attention, because the way that his eyes blurred made it very difficult to focus, and he really didn’t want anyone to stare at him or make a fuss.

Taking a deep breath he turned the pages, carefully, with one hand, pausing here and there.

Morgana had been nothing if not thorough. They were all there, methodically documented: all his events with Hengroen, even the ones where he didn’t win anything. Jumping, her mane beautifully ribboned, her flowing tail spread out behind her in sheets of silk as she breasted a fence. Arthur’s face intent with concentration under his hard riding hat. Arthur standing proudly by her side, genuine delight wreathing his face. Some of them made him half smile with the memories. He looked up, to see Morgana watching him.

“Thank you,” he said, swallowing. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, little brother.” Morgana understood, he knew. She had owned Dali since she was a filly; the two horses, Dali and Hen, had joined the Pendragon stables at the same time. Hen had been his friend and partner for years. He missed her more than he cared to admit.

On the final page was the picture that hurt the most. His throat closed up and his head throbbed with trying to suppress the pain of it. The photo had been taken the day of the accident, before the event started. Hen was decked out in ribbons, immaculately groomed; Leon had excelled himself. Arthur stood with his hand poised to pat her flank, smiling at the camera. He could remember how he felt, keen anticipation and a rising sense of excitement at the coming challenge. Taking in a breath that was almost a sob, he stared at the page with sightless eyes, waiting a moment or two for his vision to clear.

“I’m sorry, old girl,” he whispered, then, running his finger gently down the long line of her face in the picture. “I’m so sorry.”

A hand squeezed his good shoulder, strong and steady, and he noticed that the room had fallen silent.

“It wasn’t your fault Arthur,” said Morgana. The understanding on her face was more than he could bear.

He watched his shaking fingers caress the page while Merlin held onto his shoulder, warm and firm, like a lifeline.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: not my characters, I'm not getting paid.


End file.
